Chap 20 "Where It All Comes Full Circle"
It had rained that morning.
Not a storm — just a soft, cleansing drizzle that left the earth smelling like forgiveness.
Shivansh parked the car outside the old, partially abandoned structure — Randhawa Wellness Center, still etched in faded steel at the gate. His father’s dream project. The one left incomplete after funding fell apart… and after Shivansh turned away from it in bitterness and pain.
Prarthana stepped out beside him, her dupatta fluttering slightly in the breeze.
Neither spoke for a while. The building stood in dignified stillness, like a ghost of all that was once hoped for — and all that had never been said between father and son.
Shivansh finally broke the silence.
“He brought me here once,” he said quietly. “Said, ‘One day this place will hold more lives than money ever could.’ I laughed at him. I told him dreams like this don’t build empires.”
Prarthana looked at him, her eyes soft. “Did he say anything back?”
He smiled faintly. “He just smiled. The way fathers do when they already know the answer but are willing to wait for you to learn it yourself.”
They walked inside.
The hall was dusty, but the bones of the building still stood strong. Shivansh ran his fingers across the worn concrete wall, brushing off years of silence.
“I hated him for years,” he murmured. “Not because he failed me. But because he kept believing I’d come back. Even when I stopped believing in myself.”
Prarthana didn’t interrupt. She just walked beside him, her presence steady as breath.
They reached the back wall — the one where old architectural plans were once pinned.
Shivansh pulled something from his coat pocket. A photograph — curled at the edges.
It was his father, smiling proudly in front of the foundation stone, a much younger Shivansh reluctantly standing beside him.
“I found it in a box last month,” he said, voice breaking just a little. “I thought I’d lost everything of him. But somehow… this survived.”
He stepped forward and taped it gently to the wall — not as an offering of grief, but as a promise.
Then he turned to Prarthana.
“I want to build this again,” he said. “Not as a tycoon. Not to erase guilt. But because I finally understand why he dreamed it. And… I want to finish it. For him. For me. For the people it was meant to serve.”
She reached for his hand.
“And I’ll be there,” she said simply. “Not behind you. Beside you. Always.”
He looked at her, and the ghosts in his eyes — the little boy who waited for a mother who never returned, the young man who shut his heart to a dying father — they finally quieted.
Not erased.
But released.
As they stood there in the echoing stillness of unfinished dreams, a quiet wind passed through the open windows, scattering a few old leaves across the floor.
And after a long time, Shivansh Randhawa did not feel alone..
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After months of hard work and resilience
The Randhawa Wellness Centre opened on a morning woven with sunlight and jasmine.
The building stood tall now — not imposing, but warm, with wide open windows, soft cream walls, and hand-painted murals from local artists lining the pediatric wing. There were still things unfinished. A room waiting for books. A corner where fresh paint lingered. But it no longer looked like a project. It looked like a promise fulfilled.
Guests had begun to gather. Former patients from the NGO, local officials, villagers who had watched the building remain silent for years — and now saw it breathe again.
At the entrance, a marble plaque gleamed softly.
“Randhawa Wellness Centre – A dream remembered, a legacy reborn.”
Shivansh stood at the gate, dressed simply in a cream kurta with a navy jacket. There was no press coverage, no media storm. Just people. And meaning.
He looked around quietly, breathing in the moment — the sounds of laughter from children who ran through the corridors, the scent of fresh marigolds draped along the banisters, the distant hum of an old melody someone was playing on a flute.
Then he saw her.
Prarthana.
Walking down the front steps with a clipboard in hand, guiding a volunteer. She wore a soft yellow saree with flowers in her braid, and a glow on her face that had nothing to do with the sun.
Their eyes met — and for a moment, the crowd fell away.
She walked up to him and handed him a small key. “You forgot this,” she said softly.
He took it and smiled. “You remembered everything I forgot.”
She didn’t reply, just looked at the building beside them.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “And it feels alive.”
“It is,” he said. “Because of you.”
Their hands brushed — and this time, he held hers. In front of everyone. No shame, no fear.
A gentle bell rang, announcing the start of the ceremony.
Shivansh took the mic, but only spoke briefly.
“This isn’t a monument,” he said. “It’s a living place. For healing. For second chances. For people who have lost their way and are still brave enough to begin again.”
He glanced at Prarthana — who nodded gently, her eyes shimmering.
“For my father, who believed in this long before I did. For every soul that walks through these doors needing hope — welcome. You belong.”
Applause broke out — but it was the quiet kind. Respectful. Honest.
Later, as the day turned golden and guests trickled out, Shivansh and Prarthana stood at the garden bench behind the building. The bench his father had once dreamed of placing there.
She leaned against him lightly. “You did it.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“No,” he said quietly. “We did.”
She smiled. “What now?”
He turned to her, brushing a hair from her cheek.
“Now we live,” he whispered. “Together. Not to outrun the past — but to build something that finally makes it worth surviving.”
"Shivansh...." she whispered holding his hand...
He looked up...
" I love you" she said...
Shivansh smiled with a lot of emotions..
---
And beneath that quiet sky, the two of them stood — not as broken pieces stitched together, but as something new, whole, and unshakably real.
A legacy not of power.
But of love.
Fan Fictions
Love Friendship Dating and Relationships
Bade Achche Lagte Hain Naya Season
Itti Si Khushi Sab TV
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